Of Auburn Hair and Happiness
by silvermedals
Summary: Sansa's seven love stories - for Caesar's Palace's Shipping Week event.
1. Falling Snow

Drifts of snow had piled up already around her, and her auburn hair was already strewn with snowflakes. She shivered in the cold of the northern winter, drawing her cape closer around her.

He would be here soon. She was certain of it. He wouldn't leave her out in the cold like this, alone, not for much longer. She fiddled with her sleeves for a moment, smoothing the grey fabric out over her wrist.

"You should have worn red," he told her, his face absent of a smile. "Lannister colors."

She nodded, at a complete loss for words. She folded her hands in front of her and smiled. He stepped closer to her, snowflakes falling in his light hair. He looked down at her, and she forced a smile. His face was still placid.

His warm arms around her, a hand on her cheek, lips pressed against hers - he was everything she'd ever wanted but right now she felt trapped, like his nails were digging into her skin.

 _Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream. Remember what happened when you screamed._

Instead she reached for his shoulders and joined her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer. Even in the snow, numbing her skin, pressed up close to a boy she didn't love, Sansa knew it at least looked romantic.


	2. Cyber Relationship

She wrote in her delicate calligraphy his name, the J grand and important, the Y swirly and beautiful. That's the way he liked it, she told herself, penning the rest of the letter. She signed it with her name, thin letters, the same size as the rest of the letter.

She hurriedly opened his letter, pouring over the parchment, her heart drinking up the words:

 _My Dearest, Sansa,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well, and as a fair maiden as ever. My mother says I am to meet you, and I am to travel to Winterfell come your Name Day. I have missed your letters dearly, and look forward to walking with you along the walls of the castle, looking out over the forests._

 _I wonder if we are to marry. I would welcome that prospect, and would love to meet you in King's Landing one day. Perhaps you would care to try some of our fine liquor?_

 _Always yours,_

 ** _Joffrey_** _."_

She smiled and tucked the letter away in her writing desk. He was in _love_ with her. He, the heir to the throne of Seven Kingdoms, intending to marry her? It was all too much to handle.


	3. Rendezvous

All of the fights with Arya meant nothing now. Everything from her years of dreaming and making up little romantic fantasies in her head meant nothing. Not now, when the Baratheon family rode in on horseback into Winterfell. As they dismounted from their equestrian thrones, Joffrey strode towards Sansa, a determined yet emotionless look on his face.

"Lord Joffrey," she whispered as they stood face-to-face.

"Lady Sansa," he responded, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The fairytale swept her up, creating whirlwinds in her head. The thunderclouds boomed above, and as their parents stood meters away, speaking of politics and the weather, Sansa felt her hand creeping away from where it had been resting politely on her stomach.

Her fingers twisted around the bottom of his tunic, the thick brocade of his jacket covering her hand. Sansa prayed he'd step closer to her, not farther away. His hand, calloused and cold, grazed against her cheek. She shuddered, looking up to meet his stern gaze.

"My mother said we are betrothed, a sure deal. I do look forward to meeting your acquaintance."

"And me as well," Sansa said softly as the boy of her dreams turned away, his silken cape blown aside by the wind. The word exchanged in their letters hardly seemed like such fantasy now.


	4. Promenade

Sometimes he said things. Worrying things. Sometimes he told her he could use people Sansa didn't like for target practice. She managed to push that aside on her Name Day, when Joffrey laced his fingers in hers less tightly than he did on other days.

"Joffrey, I do think I love you," she told him, hoping he didn't see the naivete in her blue eyes. He turned to her, unsmiling, and told her bluntly how lovely the sentiment was. She stared out over the city as they continued their promenade on the walkway over the castle. The day was crisp and clear above them, nearly cloudless, sun beating down on King's Landing.

Suddenly Joffrey stopped, tightening his grasp on her hand for a moment until she turned to him. Seeing the look in his eyes, Sansa tensed. "For your Name Day, I could have had any number of fine jewels brought in for you," he stated.

"Oh, Joffrey-"

"But instead I thought I would get you what you seemed to want most of all." He stopped, and she looked up confusedly at him until he stepped towards her, his head blocking the sun from her eyes, and planted a kiss on her lips. She was confused. All of the novels she had read, all of the things her friends had told her. . .shouldn't the first kiss with a boy she loved feel magical? Fulfilling? Not uncomfortable, cold, inorganic.

"Oh, Joffrey," she repeated, not knowing what to say. Not now could she break the facade for either of them nor for all of Westeros. This image was most important, and as trapped as she felt, she knew this was not the last of loveless public displays.


End file.
